


On My Knees (You Belong to Me)

by ArtsyDeath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Harry, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, First Time, Knotting, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Naked Female Clothed Male, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Older Woman/Younger Man, Omega Tom, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Harry, Possessive Tom Riddle, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy Kink, Rough Sex, Size Kink, Time Travel, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyDeath/pseuds/ArtsyDeath
Summary: He'd died, falling at her feet, breaking the bond between them in a backlash of magic that sends her back to 1937 to be sorted alongside the boy he'd been.She isn't supposed to want him but as he grows so does the empty feeling inside of her and it all comes to a startling change in dynamics in their seventh year, inside an old unused classroom, and the reveal of a secret.-Or: Tom is in heat (but Harry is the one on her knees).





	1. Heat

Harry breathes in carefully through her mouth, mindful to keep the pressure on the fabric over her nose hastily covered by the bright red and gold Gryffindor scarf.

She can’t help glancing towards him, coiled up tight in the corner of the unused classroom, his normally neat and orderly hair tugged harshly in white-knuckled fists, his eyes fixed on his shoes.

She's older than him, even if her body isn't, but this is the first time she really feels it. He looks young, vulnerable in a way that worms through her instincts and makes her jaw clench down tight as she swallows thickly around the pheromones that are so dense she can almost taste them.

Outside the door there’s nothing but rubble – a stray spell in a duel far beneath the great hall in the dungeons. They’d thrown up silencing wards to avoid being caught and it wasn’t likely that anyone had heard them.

People wouldn’t be wondering about them until first lessons started at nine.

Harry nudges the time into existence, fingers flexing against her ribs at the glowing zero-three-zero-eight.

Not even five minutes had passed since her last check and she bends forwards, pressing her forehead against her knees, mushing her nose against the fabric, trying to focus on her own musty alpha smell and not the clean crisp, almost minty scent, of the omega in heat in the opposite corner.

If someone had told her that the boy who would grow up to become Lord Voldemort was an omega Harry wouldn’t have believed them. The sheer arrogance, the pride, the domineering way he commanded the room – all of it fit neatly into the profile of what an alpha was supposed to be like back in the beginning of the twentieth century.

When she’d met him on the battlefield in her time the reek of him had nearly brought her to her knees and she wonders when he’d changed and how much of what he’d become anchored in self-hatred.

“I hope you’re happy.” The fear hidden in the snarl only adds to the tension creeping through her neck and down her spine and she swallows a sound she knows would be entire unwelcome. “People have been speculating about me for years and here we are! The first to find out a _Gryffindor_ _mudblood._ ”

“It might surprise you,” she manages, her voice raspier than she means, “but I’m not about to out you or anything.”

A scoff and his scent is so thick that it’s impossible to hide the curl of acidic anxiety in the middle of it all.

She suspects that if it wasn’t for the fact that heat messed with an omega’s ability to do magic he would have made at least an attempt to her life by now. But with how tightly he was curled up, the lack of anything to drink during the three hours they’d already been stuck here, she doubts he’d manage much more than a stumble in her direction before he collapsed.

The alpha inside of her won’t let it rest and she shifts, resting her chin on her own knees to give herself a clear view of him, and, him of her, if he chose to. “I’m not,” she presses. “I might not like you, Riddle, but I’m not an-” _asshole,_ she almost says, only just remembering the exact time she is in and- “I’m not _cruel._ ”

“You only say that because you want to _fuck me._ ” That, is definitively a word he’s picked up from her and she feels shame warming her cheeks because she feels her walls clench down on nothing at the sheer _filthiness_ of it and – he isn’t wrong in the fact that every instinct inside of her is telling her to make her way over to him, on her hands and knees if she has to.

“You can’t help being what you are any more than I do,” she says but it sounds weak even to her own ears.

He can’t know how absolutely deplorable her want of him is – that she feels herself getting slick at the scent of him despite knowing that he’d be the reason for her parent’s death. That he’d, instead of killing her, had bonded them intimately in the future and that his death there had nearly brought her undone and caused a backlash of magic that had brought her to the beginning of his school years because she hadn't been able to cope without him.

Harry spies the restless twitching of his fingers, the way his nails hooks against the fabric of his slacks, worrying it with a low scritch-scratch of noise, his rump on the cold stone floor when he should be-

“Do you-“ She digs her fingers into her ribs. “Do you want my cloak?”

She regrets it almost instantly, embarrassment twisting thick inside of her chest, because of course he’d say _no._ Why would he want something practically bathed in her scent? _Why-_

Her thoughts comes to an abruptly stumbling halt at the sight of the hand that slowly stretches out towards her, face deliberately turned away from her, and she’s reaching for the fabric before her mind has time to catch up.

The cloak is heavy – it’s winter, after all, and she’d taken to wearing it when padding through the dark corridors on nights like this when the cool air made their breaths mist. The alpha inside of her is proud of the choice and she pulls herself slowly to her feet and shuffles her way over, letting it pool over his arm and watching as he pulls it against his chest.

Her eyes flashes alpha red before she catches herself and takes a deliberate step back, forcing herself back into her corner and sinking down as she watches him inhale her scent discreetly, rubbing his cheek against it as he cuddles into it, shuffling it around to make sure it was beneath him and all the way around him.

Nesting.

Harry had never seen an omega do it before – had only heard Ginny sigh about how adorable Hermione had been when she’d burrowed down in her room before she was booted out to share with Harry instead while Ron ended up all the way in Bill’s old room.

Hermione had stolen all of her school cloaks and several of her knitted sweaters for her nest and she hadn’t been able to wear them without the underlying scent of omega heat for _weeks_ afterwards.

She wonders if she’ll smell like him now – if she’ll be carrying around the crisp minty tang mixing with the smokiness of his magic.

Harry breathes in raggedly through her throat and forces herself to bury back against her knees as a shiver of desire pools low between her legs. She can feel her panties already uncomfortably wet with sticky want and it takes everything she has to not rub her thighs together as her walls clenches down with an achy empty feeling of want that she has no right to linger on.

Time passes and Harry’s mind wanders, counting the grey dark stones in the walls, reciting ingredients for potions, trying to recall the names of the bands Ginny had been introducing to her before-

“Would you swear it?” Harry twitches because Tom’s scent now had a tang of desperation to it that drags her full attention to him, biting down on the inside of her cheek as her mind and instincts veer. “Would you swear not to tell?” he presses when he looks at her, cheeks flushed, pupils so dilated that the reddish brown of his eyes were nearly completely lost.

“I would,” she says slowly, fingers brushing against the holster of her wand on the inside of her wrist.

“Do it,” he tells her, almost begs. “Do it and you can – you can _fuck me_.”

Harry gives him a long blank look that only makes his cheeks darken more, furiousness and helplessness in his eyes but also a dark reek of _want_ that is so entirely disconnected from anything that she could have expected to leave his mouth that she forgets to breathe through her mouth and finds herself inhaling mint and smoke, eyes lidding, teeth biting down on her lower lip and red creeping around her pupil.

“I’ll swear it,” she forces out. “Because I’m not an _asshole._ ”

She drags the wand out, breathing out harshly through her teeth as she struggles to center herself. “I, Harry Lily Potter, solemnly swear not to reveal Tom Marvolo Riddle’s secondary gender unless given his explicit permission.” The magic is sharp, livid and demanding and it isn’t until it’s sealed with a small mark on the inside of her wrist that she realises just what she’d done.

“Harry Lily Potter.” The name is repeated slowly with liquid curiously and an underlying triumph in his scent that really shouldn’t be making her feel things. “I knew you didn’t look like an _Elena Parker._ ”

She draws a ragged breath. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

Some of the red is fading from his cheeks and he’s watching her with a fixed intensity that makes her swallow a noise of want as he shifts to his knees, making sure to keep her cloak close as he inhales.

“Potter – that’s a pureblood name.”

“I’m half-blood,” she bites out, far less defensively than she normally did because he was pulling himself up, one palm flat against the stones as he took a slow step forward and towards her as she shrunk back against her corner in response, suddenly overwhelmed as the scent of his heat threatened to swallow her up completely as her head tilted up to keep their eyes locked.

Domineering, leering, her walls squeezing down on nothing as he breathes in and out.

When he crouches down and puts a hand on her knee she doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t think twice about letting it sink down against the floor, followed by the other, opening herself up to him, allowing him to carefully settle between her sprawled legs with one hand that slowly drags up to settle loosely high on her thigh.

She feels her muscles bunching, a low ragged noise swallowed roughly at her first look at his scent gland as her head hits the wall with a shiver.

He clasps her wrists in his hands, forcing them down to her sides, leaving her open as he leans forward and Harry squeezes her eyes shut as he drags his tongue from the hollow of her throat and up as she tilts her head to bare her neck instinctively, fingers flexing weakly as she twitches in his hold with a wrecked shudder.

She shouldn’t want this.

She should be shoving him off her, should have used her patronus to call Albus, consequences be damned.

She shouldn’t-

He pushes a knee up against her, trapping her between the wall and himself as she squirms, feeling his tongue, the way his teeth drags over her prickling flesh, the gentle pressure between the apex of her thighs as her head tilts helplessly, breathing in the heady scent of him so close that she can almost reach out and-

“Keep your hands down,” he demands in a breathy rush into her ear before releasing her and she forces herself to be still, so knotted up with tension that she barely move as she watches him draw back just enough to find her scarf and pull it off her, wrapping it around his own neck, hiding the scent gland as he inhales the smell of her with a dilation of his pupils and a slow shudder.

He reaches for the buttons of her shirt, and Harry watches as he takes his time, tugging it off stiff limbs and leaving her in a white camisole without bra beneath it.

He reaches for her belt next, drawing it through the loops and off completely, her palm pressing down against the ground to help him pull her pants down and over her rump and then down, one leg at the time, before throwing them aside with the shirt.

The stone is cold against her bare skin and she shivers, painfully aware of the dark damp fabric between her thighs and her nipples straining visibly.

He’s still dressed in his Head Boy uniform – pin proud on his chest beside the Slytherin crest, her cloak wrapped tight around him, her scarf dangling from his neck, and the sight shouldn’t be making her ache but it does and a ragged whine escapes her before she can reel it in as he leans forward and he pauses, nose flaring at the need that curls through her scent.

“You want me,” he murmurs it almost like a revelation, a thick satisfaction oozing through him as he draws back completely, pushing up and away from her as she stares at him with eyes that has gone nearly completely red, only sparsely flecked with green. “Come here.” He curls his fingers almost mockingly but the hunger in his voice is impossible to hide.

Harry stiffly gets her limbs to cooperate, bringing her up with only a slight sway and following him as he backs up against the large desk at the front of the board and she halts just a little bit away, wary even through the mist of want as she struggles against her instincts telling her to push him down, _to take him._

Instead she sinks willingly to her knees as he pushes against her shoulder, gasping at the onslaught of arousal from the omega as she breathes out with a shudder.

She knows what he wants, reaching to open his belt, a ragged noise of overwhelming need making her grasp at his hip at the sight of his cock, thick long and straining, unable to resist the need to push forward and nuzzle against it, inhaling the thick musky scent, wanting it for herself while angling her head, pressing a hand against it and letting it slide over her own scent gland as he stares down at her, his own breathing noticeably strained.

Harry angles her head, drawing her tongue up along the underside, feeling throbbing veins against the wet muscle, tasting the salty pre-cum over the slit.

He’s large for an omega – much larger than most alpha, even, and she feels her pussy clenching down as she opens wide, straining her jaw to get the head into her mouth, breathing carefully through her nose, drinking the scent of his heat as she pushes forward, blindly, until her nose touches against the curls at the base of it.

She flattens her tongue against him, throat straining where he’d sunk far deeper than she’d ever taken anything in her life, unable to breathe until she carefully pulls back, freeing her airways with a shudder and opening her eyes to find a pair of burgundy eyes staring down at her in hunger.

She realises, as she pushes forward, taking him inch after thick inch, that this must be his first time if he’d been forced to hide his status as an omega and the knowledge is overwhelming, her hands finding purchase and digging into his buttocks as she takes him down all the way to the root and hums, swallowing deliberately as he curses, hips snapping forward, his fingers straining against the wood of the desk.

She draws back and then forward, giving him an encouraging nudge to push into her, keeping her jaw loose and relaxed as his hip rocks instinctively, the head pushing against the back of her throat before curving and then dragging back along her tongue which she pushes up, mindful of her teeth.

There’s an edge of desperation to his scent, a warring disbelief of having an alpha willingly kneeling despite the fact that he’d gone to full heat, her eyes vivid red below him as he fumbles to grasp her dark hair, pulling her back and then snapping his hips forward to drive into her.

Harry struggles not to gag, tensing as he forces her nose into the curls at the root at crotch before dragging out until only the head of his cock remained and repeating it, the pheromones oozing so thick around them that there’s an almost drunken satisfaction veering with the thick knowledge of just who the omega fucking her throat was as he bends nearly in half, pressing hard against the back of her head to keep her in place, her throat plugged shut and her eyes widening in shock as he comes.

The feeling is strange – helpless and unable to do anything but swallow around him as he gasps and pushes impossibly deeper, forcing his cum into her belly without warning as she whines, pushing against his hip, jerking back.

But instead of letting her go he follows her and she finds herself on her back, his weight heavy on top of her, one palm pressing flat against the floor above her head as he pushes so deep down her throat that her eyes rolls into the back of her head.

He reaches down with the other to stroke along the base almost lazily with a little jerk and a wad against her tongue as he drags himself out of her mouth to a ragged gasp and a splutter as she coughs, staring up at him, his cock resting limply on the side of her neck, against her gland, and she shudders as he reaches down and strokes his fingers almost curiously against the bruised skin beneath the red of her eye.

She grasps at his hip with one hand, breathing hard, his pheromones settling with the first orgasm and her mind creeps slowly back to her, leaving a strange and achy emptiness in her chest with the realisation of what she’d allowed him to do.

And, worse, that she’d enjoyed it.

“Most alpha would never have allowed that,” he observes, being surprisingly mindful to keep himself elevated just enough to allow her chest to ride and fall beneath his weight with just a slight strain. “You’re a strange one, _Harry Lily Potter_.” The sound of her name in that rugged drag of his voice makes her clench. “I told you that if you swore, I would allow you to fuck me.” He stares down at her, brown eyes lingering on her swollen lips. “I changed my mind.” He leans down, leering. “ _I_ am going to fuck _you._ ”

Harry is alpha – her instincts demand that she pushes him down, to show him just what she thought about it, to show him that _he_ belonged to _her._

But she knows – she knows that he wouldn’t want it, that he wouldn’t enjoy it, that he’d _resent her_ and she shouldn’t _care_ but she _does_ because the scent of fear that had filled up the room when he first went into heat _lingers._

She shouldn’t want him, but she does.

She craves him. Even in her time, pale and old and more monster than human a part of her wanted nothing more than to show him that, even if the rest of the world didn't want him, _she did_.

She knows that, had he only asked, she wouldn’t have hesitated to sink to her knees before him.

The knowledge is sickening, shameful, and she’d done everything in her power to keep it locked up inside of her when she’d realised just what time she’d woken up in. Taking a stance, challenging him, _angering him._

She might as well have been shouting _look at me._

Harry realises that he’s waiting for something – that there’s a curl of tension carefully hidden beneath her cloak, his face bent over hers, eyes searching, and she swallows, squeezing her eyes shut and tilting her head back in submission.

The hunger that flares through his scent is so thick it practically drips and she inhales with a choked gasp as his heat flares nearly twice as heady, spreading and curling around them in a thick mix of magic.

“ _Alpha,”_ he breathes and she only has a second to realize what he was going for before his teeth sank thickly into her bonding gland.

Pleasure explodes through her, hips arching sharply as she cries out, eyes opening wide, fingers clawing red lines into his skin as she chokes, shivering and quivering as he soothes it with gentle licks, realising with a shudder of warring relief and disappointment that he hadn’t broken skin.

She lets go of him as he eases down her body, dragging her legs up around his waist and bending forward to drag his tongue up her nipple, mouthing against the fabric as she squirms, feeling his flaccid cock against her core and knowing it was only a matter of time before he was getting hard again as she shivers.

His mouth is warm - his tongue wet and rough as he seals his lips around her, almost nursing as her chest darkens in embarrassment and arousal as she pushes up, rubbing the wet front of her panties against him and promptly choking on a gasp as he grasps her hip and grinds down hard with a hum that drags a ragged gasp from her.

Male omega were capable of carrying the children of male and female alphas but they could also impregnate female alphas. The ultimate life-givers.

But it was rare a female alpha who would allow herself to be impregnated – to carry the shame, bare to the public knowledge that she’d been taken by someone who was considered less than a man.

It was better in her times but here –

She groans when she feels him hardening against her, sweat beading against her back as she prevents herself from swelling, rubbing up against him with slick want as he grasps the hem of her camisole and drags his tongue over her bare nipple as he tugs it down, sucking in a way that edges on painful as he settles his weight on top of her, rocking against the spread of her legs.

She feels the drag of his pants, the uncomfortable press of his belt, but something prevents her from voicing it.

He draws back, staring down at her with a possessive sort of hunger as he pushes his fingers against the slick panties before he nudges her.

Mortification colours her chest deep red and she clenches her jaw shut and struggles against every veering instinct as she allows herself to be turned around, onto her hands and knees, stiff in a position that was only meant to be taken by an omega about to be bred.

Behind her he draws a ragged breath,the air spiking with his arousal, the scent of his heat the only thing that keeps her locked in place as he drags her panties down her hips and off her feet, his cock slipping up against her belly as he presses himself flat against her, palms dragging over skin, pulling the fabric up over her breasts and leaving it there.

She feels his head rubbing against her and – she’s never been fucked before.

She’s alpha – _it isn’t done._

He pushes forward, the head of his cock stretching her out painfully, and she grimaces, instinctively trying to shift away, only to jerk as he gives a push forward, feeling herself opening and swallowing around the head as he grasps at her hips.

The feeling is strange – aching and overwhelming as he slowly feeds her inch after thick inch until she’s all twisted up and overwhelmed and the slightest flutter makes an achy sort of pain twist through her and she realises that she’d been far less prepared to take him than she thought as she curls her hands, white-knuckled and overwhelmed and forcing herself to breathe as he finally bottoms out inside of her, painfully pressed up against her cervix, hips flush against her rump, belt and fabric pressing uncomfortably against her bare skin.

She reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against her lower belly and whines as he jerks, feeling him against the palm of her hand as he lets out a shuddering sigh. “Good alpha,” he murmurs and her teeth bares in an instinctive snarl only to jerk when his palm connects against her rump with a sound that rings too loud in her ears.

He’s pushing her – straining her instincts, _challenging them_ as he draws slowly out of her before pushing inside, forcing her to stretch for him as a strange white-noise creeps through her and her vision tunnels on the dark stones.

Sweat drips on the floor below her, beading on her chest and pooling in the hollow of her back as he thrusts into her with a sudden painful snap that follows by another and another, not slowing down, the heat and pheromones so heady around them that every breath is loud and ragged and _it’s too much._

 _“Tom.”_ It’s the first time she’s ever spoken his name and instead of slowing down it makes him thrust harder into her, cock pushing up against her cervix with a twist of her face and a shocked whine as her entire body jerks, trying to get away from it, only to find herself pulled back with another slap against her rump and a dark satisfied rumble from the omega fucking her as if- as if-

It’s wrong. It’s wrongwrong _wrong_. Her senses blare, her instincts are going haywire and she’s clawing against the stone floor as he fucks her, just as promised, rough and hard and uncaring for anything but his own pleasure as he repeatedly slams up against her womb, as if he could break through it, and she realises with a sickening twist of arousal and horror that she wasn’t taking any potions because _alphas weren’t supposed to need them._

“Not – you can’t come inside.” She reaches blindly back for him, knowing how fertile omegas got in heat and knowing that they didn’t have potions for abortion the way they did in her time and-

He groans, pressing her arm flat against her back, snapping into her hard, and she realises with widening eyes that he had no intention of stopping, that he was going to _breed her_ , practically clawing into her skin and dragging her back painfully against him as he took her roughly, her hand unable to keep her up as she collapsed forward, hips hitched up, legs spread, knees pressed against the stone, her breasts dragging painfully against it.

She feels the swelling at the base of his cock with a mute noise of shocked horror and such a strong disconnect from her instincts that her mouth opens with a whine.

She’d heard about it – that male omega, when breeding a female alpha could – but she’d thought it was nothing but myth, just silly stories and-

“Tom-“ she gasps out as he pushes it up against her, trying to force it inside of her already far-too-stretched pussy with a relentless and punishing rhythm that edges on brutal, her face twisting up in pain, trying to jerk away but unable to under the heady potent pheromones of heat leaving her weak and overwhelmed beneath him.

None of the shakiness of his limbs remained – none of the vulnerability that had edged through him when the heat first crept upon him.

The knot pushes into her, white noise in her ears as he swells far wider than her body was prepared to handle, locking her in place with the head of his cock pushed and locked flat against the opening of her womb as he came hard inside of her.

Sticky white semen fills her up as he groans, murmuring soft praise against her back as his hips jerks as much as they can, his cock too large, the knot straining something inside of her as her breath hitches, fingers curling weakly where she lies, breathing hard, following along instinctively as he nudges her onto her side with a bit of careful manoeuvring, drawing her tight against him.

He’s warm against her back, their skin sticky, everything raw and too much and tumbling into an overwhelming mess of confused instincts at the feeling of his knot inside of her, of the warmth of his seed.

She realises, with a squirm, that he isn’t softening – that he’s just as hard and thick inside of her despite emptying himself and the fact that omegas could come several times in an hour makes itself uncomfortably reminded as he pushes experimentally up against her.

He nibbles on her shoulder as she tries to twist away only to gasp and still at the feeling of the knot pulling at her opening, heart pounding too hard inside her chest, whining as he pushed her flat out on the floor, legs on either side of her hips, arms wrapping around her as he fucked into her, keeping her in place beneath him until he came with another shuddering groan.

Twenty minutes later, her uncomfortably full from two more orgasms, the knot had finally deflated enough for him to slip out of her but she’s still aching, raw and needy and strangely empty despite being far too overstimulated as the head of his cock stretched and then popped out of her with a wet noise and a rush of sticky semen.

She’s aware of his weight over the back of her thighs as she remains still beneath him and he breathes out, nudging his cheek up against hers.

“Alpha,” he murmurs, breath warm, and she closes her eyes. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “All mine.”

She rasps a choked breath of want at the claim, tilting her head as he drags his teeth over her bonding gland with a slight pause as he worries it thoughtfully between his teeth.

He draws back, grasping her hips to turn her around, dragging her camisole up and over her head until she’s completely bare beneath him.

He touches her breasts, dragging his palm down her sides, touching the flat stretch of her belly as her breathing picks up, shuddering as his hardening cock drags against the slick and come between her legs, the knot still slightly swollen at the base of it.

She pushes up with a flare of her own scent and he goes willingly, allowing her to straddle his belly, keeping a steadying hand on her hip as she presses up, grabbing and guiding him into her as she sinks down inch after painful inch.

This way she can see the dilated pupils, the glitter of omega gold in his eyes, the want, the desperate need and _wonder_ at the sight of her perched and spread on his cock with a little shudder, eyes closing briefly before opening up to full alpha red eyes.

She leans down, black hair falling down her right shoulder as she presses her lips against his ears. “This time _I’m_ fucking _you._ ”

He laughs, startled, and she inhales the scent of joy in the thick heady curl of arousal, mouth stretching as she tilts and slants her lips over his, deepening it as he opens up for her, coaxing him to respond – first clumsily and then with growing confidence as she moans, murmuring soft praise as she drags back, trailing down his chin.

She raises up, pressing down experimentally, feeling the stretch but also – she breathes in heavily, instincts purring at the sight of him below her, unable to resist pulling at the Gryffindor scarf until his scent gland was once again visible, nosing up against it, licking over it as she kept fucking him, setting her own pace as he shuddered beneath her, eyes lidding and neck tilting with invitation that is too delicious to ignore.

“I want to bond you, omega,” she whispers, clenching down on him. “Want to make you all _mine_.”

She nibbles on his jawline when he tenses, soothing him with soft murmurs and touch, whispers of want and promises as she rucks up his shirt, touching his pale chest, feeling the warmth of his skin as she fucks him, pressing down against him until the knot was straining against her entrance before pulling back as he shivered, attempting to push her down but unable to.

Roles reversed, instincts reversed, Harry’s eyes glows as she stares down on the future Dark Lord.

His eyes flashes as he struggles against himself – his fears and wants as vulnerability creeps back into him even as he fights to hide it.

“We are destined to be together,” she tells him, feeling the strain of the one-sided bond gaping wide inside of her. “Omega… Tom…” She clenches around him. “You are allowed to _want._ ”

The noise he makes is desperate and Harry doesn’t fight it as he yanks her down and sinks his teeth into her bond gland, breaking skin as her eyes lid and she pushes down, taking his knot inside of her as his eyes opens wide, letting go with a choked cry as she twists and sinks her teeth into his, gnashing it hard, tasting blood while clenching down and he swells painfully inside of her, his hips stuttering in surprise as he fills her up.

The bond slots new and different and yet familiar inside of her as she shudders, instincts satisfied as she flattens herself against his chest, breathing out as he touches her hair hesitantly before smothering it down.

For the first time since Voldemort’s death she feels content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually writing on We Are Kin but then I got side-tracked because I sorta stumbled upon an A/B/O convo. 
> 
> I have never really liked it because often it feels to me that the mysogyny becomes startlingly crass, esp in many m/m fics (in both how men and women are written), but I do like the idea of it and I do like the dynfunctionality between Harry and Tom so I ended up with this once I gave it some consideration.
> 
> Harry was roughly seventeen when she was sent back which would make her 23/24ish here? Tom is 18 as it's post New Year. I was considering making a part 2 but - I dunno. Have to finish other stuff first, I guess? I do have an idea for it tho so let me know if it's of interest!
> 
> Feel free to stop by artsy-death on tumblr~ I post updates and bits from pieces and prompts I am considering along with general nerdiness ~~and i'm very sorry if you followed me before because my phone freaked so had to make a new one a couple of days ago but i am still there!~~
> 
> (Also my birthday is on Friday!! Gonna treat myself to a frozen pizza me thinks, maybe some blackcurrant cider if I can find it).
> 
> Time for some Fallout 4 on my end, hope you enjoyed!


	2. Consequences

_1944_

Harry wakes slowly to the feeling of hands working over her breasts, flattening and kneading them with smooth strong palms that made her breath hitch, back bending with a small arch upwards as a mouth seals around one of the straining nipples, sucking hard with a release of pressure as he nursed the milk from her with a lidded sort of intensity that makes her squirm, fingers finding and digging into his hair, pushing him closer as she opens her eyes to the darkness of thick curtains shielding them from the view of her year mates.

She can feel his weight, her thighs pushed up in a loose bend, his erection already hard and straining against her underwear, one hand resting possessively on her growing belly as he drank her empty, swallowing without embarrassment or inhibitions.

It had only been days since he’d first discovered the wet patch of milk on her camisole, her cheeks darkening at the recall of his offer, to empty them out for her to prevent anyone from making the discovery of her pregnancy.

It was only days left to graduation and Harry stares up at the dark ceiling, breathing deepening at the strange rush of excitement and arousal as he flattened his tongue over the nipple before switching to the next, his hand slipping up to knead the now empty breast as he drank from her.

She has no idea how he’d discovered and snuck all the way into the Gryffindor sleeping quarters – unhindered by the alarm that should have woken them all up – but she doesn’t linger on it, distracted by the feeling of the head of his cock pressing up against her, straining against the thin fabric as she slipped a leg up on his back, urging him to press down, to grind against her.

He pulls his mouth from her nipple, pushing up and slanting his lips over hers and she can taste the sweet milk on his lips as he kisses her, tongue curling into her mouth, stroking against hers as she groans, low, wet and desperate, a palm smoothing down against the outside of her thigh, grabbing and hoisting her against the drag of his cock.

“Alpha,” he murmurs reverently against her lips, their breaths intermingling, eyes open and hungry above her, never veering as he reaches down to pull her underwear aside, angling to push the head against her opening, drinking every crease in her brow as her entrance strains open wide around his thickness before slipping inside with a hitch if her hips as he feeds inch after straining inch into her warm depth.

He bottoms out, her legs pushed up and spread for him, walls squeezing down, straining to keep him inside as he slowly pulls his cock out and then pushes forward.

“Didn’t set a privacy ward,” he says thickly, hitching into her, grinding the head of his cock up against her cervix as her eyes opens wide, becoming acutely aware of the wet drag, the smack of his hips against hers, walls clamping down with a hitch of her breath as he pulls all the way out and pushes into her.

She reaches behind her for her wand but he pins her hands down and his next thrust is harder, the sound of his flesh colliding against hers louder, and she flushes dark red – pinned and held in place as he bent down to audible suck her nipple back into his mouth with a low filthy groan at the taste of her milk.

 _“Tom.”_ She squirms, squeezing her eye shut and spreading her legs wider to take him deeper, feeling the swell of his knot, trying to urge him to a quick release by squeezing down with the next drag of his cock only to have him push forward harder, spreading her roughly, her fingers curling, hips jerking with a low noise of pain barely swallowed.

He pulls out of her and Harry feels the brush of his magic, eyes widening as ropes loops around her wrists, yanking them together and up, bound against the headboard as he stares down at her, running an admiring hand down her side, over the swell of her hips where bones had rearranged to give space for the child growing inside of her.

 _His_ child.

He grasps her thighs, forcing her to roll onto her side, hitching her up onto her knees, balanced precariously on hands tied together as she snarls soundlessly, struggling against him as he pushes his weight down to keep her in place, her eyes flashing livid alpha red in warning.

But he doesn’t push back into her, one hand grasping at her hip, the other wrapping around his cock as he jerks himself off, squeezing tight, running over the head and the pre cum beading there, her slick the perfect lubrication as his breath hitched, watching the squeeze of her cunt, the pink rosebud between her cheeks just above it, hips jerking forward into the next twist of his palm.

He sees the knotted tension in her back, skin taut over the arch of her spine, the lines of old scars just visible in the low light and he wrenches the orgasm out of him with a splatter of white sticky semen on it as she stills, cheeks darkening as his palm flattened into it, rubbing it against her, slipping down between her cheeks and pushing up against the tight ring of muscles there, her eyes widening, head shaking mutely as she strained against it with a protesting baring of teeth that he ignored completely.

He pushes forward, forcing his fingers into her, using his own cum as lube to work her slowly open to one finger that becomes two, becomes three as she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek.

Harry stills at the sound of rustling bed cover, the soft pad of feet heading towards the bathroom, tense as a bow string and biting down hard enough to draw blood as he nudges up against her – forcing the tight ring to stretch up and around him as she struggles not to squeeze down, uncomfortable and hurting, trying to jerk forward and away from him only to find herself grasped at the hips and dragged back and down on him, inch after inch disappearing into her as her mouth opens in a soundless cry of pain.

Shaking, every instinct struggling against the overwhelming horror of the too wide stretch into a place that had never been breached before, Harry can do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut as he drags himself out and pushes in, hips smacking gently up against the curve of her rump, tears dripping down her cheeks.

She can feel the stretch of his knot growing at the root as sweat beads on her skin, breasts heavy beneath her, the curve of her belly from their growing child, on her knees like an omega – her alpha struggling against the humiliation, the wrongness, the disbelief and shock that blurs her senses into a mess of overwhelming sensations.

She comes _hard,_ teeth sinking into the flesh of her wrist as she pushes back blindly, forcing the knot into her and squeezing down, trapping him as he falters with a breathed curse against her skin, nails digging into her hips as he struggles not to yank himself out of her as pain and pleasure works through her system in a delicious heady mix.

She can taste blood in her mouth, shuddering as she slowly loosens the hold, gasping for breath with a thick swallow, alpha instincts coiling dangerously through her as he flattens himself against her spine.

“Please, alpha?” he whispers, the soft lull of begging omega creeping into his voice. “Let me fuck you, let me come inside of you, please – I’ll be a good omega, _your_ good omega.”

She bares her teeth, jerking as his mouth seals over her bonding gland, sucking the skin into his mouth, bruising it as his magic creeps over her, down her arms, loosening the ropes as he shifts against her, hips pushed up flat against the curve of her rump, arms dipping below her to palm her breasts as she slowly loosens around him.

She can feel the curve of his smile against her skin as he drags out of her with a painful stretch around the knot as it pops out before he starts fucking her again.

He continues with the praise, knowing just how to sooth the alpha inside of her as she shivers, allowing him to take her over and over again, the knowledge of anyone being able to walk in on them, that all they needed was to pull back the curtains to see her on her hands and knees, heavy by child, bred by the very omega she was allowing to take her-

The drag of his cock, the smack of his hips against her rump heard by anyone who bothered to listen-

Harry bites down on the inside of her cheek as his rhythm picks up, knot swelling outside of her but now pushed up insistently against the straining ring with every brutal push forward, and she forces herself to go loose limbed and relaxed as he digs his fingers into her hips and yanks her back as he pushed forward, taking it, feeling the hard swell of the knot as it pops inside of her where it thickens and locks him against her as he comes with a stutter of his hips.

The feel of the sticky warmth in her bowels makes her shudder, feeling his breathing against her neck, the drag of his tongue against her bonding gland.

The silencing ward stretches around them both soon after and she huffs as she shifts onto her back, grimacing at his knot pulls inside of her, sighing at the smug look of the future Dark Lord as he peers down on her.

“When you made the offer this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she tells him, relaxing back against the pillows, squeezing down when the smugness gets just a bit too much and hiding a smile when he jerks with a little hiss, gaze growing accusing as he looks down between them with a growing reconsideration of their position as he tugs experimentally only to have her press down harshly around him.

He swears and she smiles innocently at him when his gaze lids at her, still mottled with golden from their coupling but settling into a reddish sort of brown as he breathed out, stroking his palm over the roundness of her belly.

“I like fucking you,” he says and Harry raises a foot, poking him sharply in the ribs as he grabs for it, stilling it in place.

“I kinda like being fucked by you,” she admits, just to see the pleased blush that blossoms on his cheeks.

“It’s only days to graduation,” Tom muses as he settles himself comfortably on his knees, hoisting her up to rest on his thighs and she allows it, stretching her legs out on either side of his hips. “We already have a place waiting for us – after that, we won’t have to hide it anymore.”

“You going to make me a proper alpha-wife?” she teases him and he wrinkles his nose, something flashing through his eyes as he turns away with a dip of his mouth and she sighs. “It’ll change with time, Tom. But pretending you’re anything other than an omega – that’s allowing _them_ to win.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone anything,” he responds a bit mulishly.

“I’m alpha, Tom. I’m not going to pretend to be anything else,” she reminds him. “And if you want the world to know the child is yours – well, you have decisions to make.”

He gives her a flat stare of dark dislike and had she been anyone but who she was she might have found a way to work around it. But everyone knew an alpha couldn’t impregnate another alpha – they were incompatible, it had always been that way, and the sooner Tom came to terms with his own secondary gender the better.

Harry sees the soft way he sometimes watches her belly – a deep aching sort of want that curls through him desperately in a world that wanted nothing more than to put omegas down.

“Tom,” she says gently. “Be the change you want to see.”

She sees the way he stills, palm pressing against her belly, and when he bends down she parts her lips willingly, aching at the desperation that echoes down their bond as he kisses her.

-

_1947_

On the nineteenth of August, three years after their graduation, Harry wakes up to an empty bed and a daughter who raises her arms up when she bends down towards her in the crib, hoisting her up onto her hip.

She isn’t surprised, not even resigned – she had always known that Tom wouldn’t be satisfied in his role as a father, not when the war against Grindelwald had ended in a duel against Albus Dumbledore, his old headmaster, the man who’d never quite managed to allow himself to trust even the eleven-year-old boy Tom Marvolo Riddle had been.

She finds his letter inside their shared office, desks pushed together, papers and books piling up and around them, ridiculous notes shared and stuck around the walls – scratches and scrawls and teasing words.

It’s a small envelope glittering with silver, the ink green. She had envelopes in gold with red ink stored in her desk.

It was supposed to be  _their thing._ Just - something fun to poke at their days at Hogwarts.

_Harry Lily Riddle_

Tom had accompanied her to Gringotts, all but forcing her to claim the name Harry Potter for herself before she married to take his name and she’d been contacted by her grandparents who’d been curious to meet the 'distant relative' they hadn’t known about.

She had denied them but now…

She opens it up, stroking her thumb over the three words written inside.

_I’m sorry, Alpha._

-

_1948_

Tiny Elena Riddle gets introduced to her un-knowing grandparents, four-years-old and oddly solemn for such a small child. She has her father’s hair, his burgundy eyes, dressed up in a pair of jeans overalls over a bright yellow sweater with a strawberry over it and she reaches out with her small hand to Euphemia Potter while Fleamont Potter looks rather like he was having a miniscule heart attack from sheer cuteness at the sight of her.

Harry watches them as Euphemia very seriously shakes the tiny hand, drinking in the features of people whose names she had only read on the family tree in brief passing.

They were young – just a year or two older than her body which made sense considering that they wouldn’t have James Potter for another eleven years, and that if she hadn’t already mucked enough with history to prevent it.

Fleamont isn’t particularly tall – his hair midnight black and pulled back in a ponytail. Euphemia’s hair is short and brown, sticking up at the neck, and her angular build rather resembles something of Harry’s own before pregnancy had filled out her hips and waist into something less androgynous.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she says warmly when they turn towards her and Elena reaches up and grasps at the tail of her dress.

“We’re glad you decided to come,” Fleamont says ushering them inside Godric’s Hollow. “I thought I was the last Potter out there, except – my wife now, of course.”

Harry shrugs out of her jacket as Elena copies her, reaching out to hang it only to pause when she realised it was far too high up, mouth wobbling a bit unsurely as she glanced around before looking up at her mother who gently plucked it up and hung it beside her own.

Elena re-shoulders her small backpack and bravely steps inside when there’s an offer of cookies and milk from Fleamont after a nod from her mother and Euphemia makes a soft noise.

“She’s quite the little thing,” she says.

“She takes after her father a lot,” Harry admits as she follows the other woman. “I couldn’t sit still for anything at that age but she’s far more content among books than in the middle of trouble. Although, that said, she isn’t afraid to give as good as she gets when riled up.”

The happenings had been few, so far, but Elena was the child of a male omega and a female alpha and Harry had never hidden it from her. Elena, in return, had taken pride in it – refusing to keep it silent which earned her some scorn among her year mates.

 _Be the change you want to be,_ she had told Tom and here her daughter was, defending his reputation despite not having seen him for a _year_. 

-

The evening turns out to be a pleasant thing and when she gets a letter of invitation a couple of weeks later Harry doesn’t hesitate to accept it, something inside of her growing soft at the child-friendly hanger slanting a bit crookedly for Elena to press up on her tippy-toes to hang her own jacket.

-

_1954_

Elena gets accepted to Hogwarts – a tall child for her age, hair short and neatly combed and tucked into a pair of jeans overalls over a simple white shirt as Harry brings her to the station.

She’s got her trunk, a small unimpressed black owl glaring out from a cage, not-yet-named, and Harry is dressed in Auror robes, a recent upgrade in her life now that Elena was getting old enough that the odd-hours wouldn’t impact her much.

Elena's wand, 11 inches long and made of yew with a dragon heartstring, is sticking out of her pocket.

Harry gives a startled _oof_ when her normally solemn and withdrawn child throws her arms around her, squeezing with startling strength before pulling back. “I’m going to be fine, Mom,” she says and Harry wonders just who was supposed to be reassuring who here.

“I know,” she tells her daughter. “But you have my genes running through your veins so I’m obliged to worry.”

She also had Tom’s genes, it was bound to cause trouble in one way or another – they were both volatile people in their own ways and Harry had made sure her daughter didn’t hear a peep about her nearly getting blown up on her first day in the Auror office.

Elena had never stopped defending her father, proud of her heritage, refusing to change the name Riddle into Potter even with the whispers of _Lord Voldemort_ brewing in the shadows, a ghost of rumour of the man and monster he would come to be.

Thankfully Tom had been just as careful to erase his past this time around and the only one who would look at Elena Riddle and see the connection between her and her father was her soon-to-be headmaster.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” Elena says and Harry laughs as she draws her close, squeezing her tight as her daughter allows it, long-suffering but smiling softly against her mother’s chest.

-

Elena’s years at Hogwarts are confusing mix of letters praising her and complaining about her and Harry spends many evenings, sipping her whisky and pouring over yet another letter with fondness.

Sorted into Hufflepuff, made Beater on the Quidditch team in her third-year, consistently making O’s in everything but Potions where she struggled, looking vaguely ill at the thought of the heady fumes inside the small cramped classroom inside the dungeons.

Excelling in Transfigurations in ways that had McGonagall sending a long letter home to her, requesting permission to give her harder tasks as she outstriped the curriculum before turning fourteen.

Harry herself struggles against a downright horrifying Auror system, taking over as Head of the British Auror division two weeks before she got a letter home about Elena coming into her secondary gender at the end of her sixth year.

-

_1959_

“You don’t look very happy about it,” Harry can’t help but prod over a pizza each, the black and white pictures on the television turned on low in front of them, mostly as an excuse to give them both something to look at while she worked at a good angle to make her daughter open up.

Elena’s mouth wavers unsurely, clad in pyjama pants, hair still wet from her shower but it did little to dampen the flare of _Beta_ that practically oozed out of her, a comforting mix of Harry’s own earthier smell and Tom’s minty breeze twisting together.

It would settle, smoothing out during the next couple of days into something of her own, but for now it was impossible to mistake just who her father was which was why Harry had decided to bring her home (and also why Albus had contacted her, a small smile and a gentle squeeze of her hands as she stepped through his fire place, far too knowing – always – that man).

“Dad…” Elena says after a good moment of time as Harry was absently letting her mind wander and the topic is enough to give her daughter her full-attention, a bit startled, because she rarely willingly brought up the topic of her father. “He left because he couldn’t accept the repercussion and judgement of being a male omega.”

“A fair assessment,” Harry agrees. “There were a lot of hate crime going around, too, and it was largely and disproportionally aimed at male omegas.”

Elena’s lips flattens and she puts the pizza down on the table, shoving it away from her. “I wanted to be an omega like him,” she tells her. “I wanted to show him that – it isn’t bad, being an omega. And then – maybe he’d come back.”

Harry reaches absently for the bond that anchored her to Tom – feeling the writhe of emotions all twisted up at the end of it, growing ever darker and more desperate for every year that passed.

“I’m sorry,” she says gently, realizing that her daughter must have been thinking about it for a long time if it was hitting her this hard.

“No.” Elena shakes her head, meeting her eyes with Tom’s burgundy. “It was – childish, I know that. But, I still wanted it – being Beta, it’s not a bad thing at all and I’m happy with it. I’m just – having to own up to certain hopes.”

Harry takes a bite of her pizza as silence lapses between them, leaving nothing but the swing music on the radio.

“What would you say to him – your father?” she ventures curiously after a moment.

Elena lowers her head and Harry's eyes widen at the answer. 

-

_1960_

“Oh he’s adorable,” Harry coos, staring down at the small bundle that would one day grow to become her father, trying very hard not to feel weird about it as Elena stares down at the baby with curiosity from beside her.

They’ve been invited in for his naming ceremony, appropriate gifts brought and far more people than Harry had interacted with outside work in forever fluttering about Godric’s Hollow.

Elena is one of the few in complete muggle get-up, always with her overalls but with a Gryffindor red shirt for the day of honour, a thin stripe of gold on each arm.

Fleamont and Euphemia were both proud Gryffindors and the house was practically overflowing in the colour and they’d been visibly delighted by their unofficial niece turning up in the matching outfit, even if Harry has seen her sneak a handkerchief in yellow and black down one of her pockets before they left the house.

House pride, Harry thought with some fondness.

“He’s very… wrinkly,” Elena says a bit dubiously, poking at a pudgy cheek only to have her finger caught and Harry watches her eyes widen as James tried to stuff it into his mouth only to have her snatch her hand back.

“You want to hold him?” Fleamont offers, practically sweeping up to them, handing his wife a tall glass of lemonade and picking little James up, depositing him into Elena’s stiff arms, making sure she had the head supported and then practically melting on the spot. “Wait here, I need to fetch the camera!”

Elena gives her mother a vaguely horrified look, unprepared to be responsible for the tiny life in her arms, and Harry has to turn away to keep from snickering out loud, sending the amusement down to her bond-mate just to give him something to think about.

There are a lot of pureblood families around, since James is a heir to an old and proud house, and Harry spies Weasleys and Malfoys alike, a nine-year-old Bellatrix Lestrange with a mess of black hair looking rather out of her depth in the middle of it all with her mother busy in deep conversation with the spouse of the infamous Abraxas Malfoy who hadn’t bothered to bring her son with her.

 _There are people here that Tom are personally responsible for killing,_ Harry thinks, watching the way Bellatrix’s face scrunches up in a scowl. _Lives, ruined._

She has always known it, of course, and with the war brewing it was only a matter of time before their daughter would find herself in the middle of it all.

Feeling ten times her age despite being only thirty-three, almost forty mentally, still in her best years for all that it mattered, Harry drags a hand through her hair and blows out a sigh.

_Damn it, Tom…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It grew a plot, _help._
> 
> I don't know what happened, I was just going to add a small smutty piece to tie it all up and the plot practically exploded on me.
> 
> Aah, I don't even know - I contemplated not posting it but I really liked Elena and now I have the next chapter just waiting to be written and I'm way invested in seeing this to the end. 
> 
> Heck if I know. I'm about to take a small break and then get back to writing because I can't just leave it like this.


	3. Countdown

_1961_

Elena graduates Hogwarts with top-grades, her chest displaying both the Head Girl and Quidditch Captain Pin, and Harry couldn’t be prouder. She looks more and more like Tom for every passing day – the pudginess of youth given away to a sharp jawline and high-cheekbones, burgundy eyes watching the world with intelligence.

The ceremony reminds her, oddly, of the muggle ones – parents and family invited to witness the oddly solemn ceremony, the sorting hat singing them out with one last song, wind whipping around their feet, tugging at her Auror robes and making her hair flutter, one hand rising absently to push it away from her face.

It’s a day after all the other students had been sent home and there’s an emptiness to the grounds – Dumbledore’s voice ringing out over the four files of students and the backdrop of family in a speech that makes more than one head lower.

Harry raises hers, turning and slipping away with a murmur of a spell to keep attention away from her, a ghost of familiarity brushing against her bond as she pins her eyes upon the hooded figure half-hidden among the trees in fine but non-descript robes.

She sidles up beside him, something easing inside of her as they, together, watches their daughter step up on the podium for her speech.

“Beta?” His voice is low, smooth, tickling enticingly to her senses.

“She wanted to be an Omega like her father,” Harry says without looking at him, slipping her hands into the pockets of her dark pants. “She misses you.”

“It’s been years.” There’s doubt there, in his tone, but he can’t hide the brush of aching longing in their bond and Harry’s heart clenches for the boy he had been, the man he was and the monster he would come to be.

“Children loves in ways we cannot fathom,” Harry says quietly.

The minty twist that had always enticed her had become heavy with the reek of sulphur and Harry breathes out as long spidery fingers hesitantly brushes over her cheek and she turns her head, green meeting vivid _red_ , his palm settling gently against her cheek and his forehead coming to rest against hers.

Paler than he’d been, cheeks hollowing out, hairline creeping back and every bit as handsome as he’d ever been.

“I missed you, Alpha,” Tom admits, so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath over her lips.

Something inside of her shudders at the admittance, at the way his thumb strokes against the sensitive skin beneath her eye.

“I hear you’ve become head of the Auror Department.” She feels his other hand brush over the mark on her chest, idly tracing down to the button-up shirt beneath the heavy robes. “Planning on hunting me down?”

“Do you want me to?” Harry returns, shivering as the pads of his fingers slipped through the opening between her buttons, touching against her bare skin. “Tom,” she warns and he stills before slipping his fingers out with a little sigh, drawing back from her and turning his head towards the podium and their daughter.

“Change is coming,” he tells her.

“Change always comes,” Harry says quietly. “Whether we want it or not.”

She hesitates but can’t resist leaning her head against his shoulder, feeling the way he stiffens momentarily before relaxing, and Harry allows them this moment of weakness, his hand coming to rest at her waist, drawing her just a bit closer.

Applause rings out and on the podium Elena bows with a little flourish.

-

_1971_

Harry had always known that Elena was something special but it’s another thing entirely to see her climb the ranks of the Ministry during the following ten years, whispers reaching her down in the Auror office and pride bubbling thick inside of her.

Little James Potter grows as well, enthused and enamoured by his _big sister_ , ever at her heels, begging for adventures and stories, for games played in the garden and games of Quidditch in the air where his eyes sparkled.

“He’s cute,” Elena says with a twitch of her lips as James pelts towards her, completely ignoring his _Aunt_ in favour of tackling his favourite person.

Harry has long decided that it’s just as well that neither of them know their true relation, it’s strange enough inside her own mind, and she takes the presents along with her as James tugs Elena with her to the backyard, greeted with a kiss on her cheek from Fleamont who doesn’t hesitate to hustle her inside.

“At least someone is happy to see me,” Harry says with a touch of wryness, James chatter reaching them through the open kitchen window.

It’s late March, James is turning eleven and in just a couple of months he’s going to be on the Hogwarts Express.

“She’s good for him,” Fleamont says fondly. “She tempers some of that arrogance of his. I’ve never seen that boy so scared as when he misspoke about Omegas. Spent weeks absolutely miserable, he did.”

Harry blinks, glancing out the window and at her daughter.

Twenty-seven-years-old, hair as short as ever, jeans overalls over a yellow sweater. Not quite the three-year-old she’d lifted from her cradle on the morning of her father’s disappearance but still very much her little girl.

“She just bought her own apartment,” Harry informs them as Euphemia appears with an armful of garden fresh vegetables. “It’s… going to be strange to live on my own.” She blows out a breath.

The two exchange glances, Euphemia depositing her haul onto the kitchen counter, earth clinging to her shirt and jeans, Fleamont leaning forward with his hands clasped together.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, dear,” Fleamont says carefully. “But have you ever thought about finding yourself a new mate?”

“It’s been over twenty years,” Euphemia says as Harry’s brow dips. “Elena is an adult, making her way into the world, and you’re at the prime of your life. Is it really worth clinging to the hope of him coming back?”

Harry breathes out, leaning back against the counter, dragging a tired hand through her hair.

“There’s no one else for me,” she admits. “I can’t…” She makes a helpless sort of gesture. ”I still love him,” she tells them.

“I’ll always love him.”  

-

_1973_

As Head Auror Harry is among the first to hear the whispers of _Death Eaters._

She’s also the first to stare at one through an intricate silvery mask, crouched down and tapping the end of her wand absently against her temple as she considers him inside the dark interrogation room.

A part of her doesn’t want to touch him – doesn’t want to face the reality of his existence and what it meant for her and Tom and Elena and the rest of the magical world.

James was only in his second year at Hogwarts.

“The Dark Lord will come for you,” the Death Eater hisses. “He’ll destroy you and the rest of you half-bloods and filthy mudbloods. He’ll restore order and rightness to us all!”

Harry ignores him, straightening up and taking a step forward, grasping for the sleeve of his robe, wrist shackled tight against the arm of the chair, yanking the dark fabric up and staring down at the twist of skull and the snake wrapping around it.

Harry places the very tip of her wand against the middle of it, ignoring the sudden widening of eyes, the way he tries to jerk away, his voice falling on deaf ears as her brow creases in focus.

 _Tom,_ she thinks, reaching carefully to brush against him as he stills upon his throne and she has a sudden vision of him staring down a long dark table where a wild-eyed and far-too-young Bellatrix Black is looking about. _This is not a war you’re going to win. Are you really prepared to pay the price?_

She pulls back before he can reach back for her, flagging tiredly in the wake of reality as she steps away from him, dragging a hand through her hair.

“What did you do!?” the Death Eater spits. “How did you-“

Harry shuts the door behind her, mouth turning down in thought as Auror’s take up guard behind her, Moody soon sliding in at her heel, ever the shadow.

-

 _1974_

“I hear I’m about to gain myself a daugher-in-law." 

Elena jerks in surprise, turning around, and in the count of seconds Harry has arms thrown around her, squeezing her tight, and she laughs as her daughter bodily lifts her off the ground to spin her about.

“I’m so happy you could come,” Elena whispers into her ear and Harry feels her throat closing up, swallowing thickly as she squeezes one back extra tight.

“Of course,” she says fiercely. “I would have been here earlier but-“

“Work is what it is,” Elena says, releasing her, burgundy eyes far too understanding. “I’m just happy you are here _now._ That is all that matters, Mom.”

Harry looks at her daughter, thirty-one-years-old, carrying far too heavy a burden with the rising of the Dark Lord Voldemort, a name so feared that few dared to take it in mouth.

Harry had spent far too many late nights dealing with the repercussions of the tidal-wave of violence and racism and it had been _months_ since she’d managed more than a hello, returning home simply to sleep and sometimes just camping under her desk at work.

She was getting old enough that her back really wasn’t appreciating it anymore.

“Elena-“

“None of that today, Mom.” Her daughter shakes her head, her hands gently where they settle on her shoulders with a soft squeeze. “I have clothes picked out for you – come.” Elena beckons her along and Harry follows, watching her daughter warmly and with a gentle prideful sort of love.

Black slacks, a fine and smart-looking button-up shirt in gold and suspenders over slim shoulders. Elena had always gone her own way, paved her own path, and it was so painfully obvious especially here on the eve of her wedding.

“I’m proud of you,” Harry murmurs gently when her daughter gently bats her hands away to button up the simple green blouse herself. “And I love you, more than anything in the world.”

“I know,” Elena says. “You’ve never given me any reason to doubt that.” Her burgundy eyes are all Tom but the warmth of them are undeniable hers for the bond mark tying her to her omega has been nothing but a sharp sort of spiky iciness for months now. “I am proud of who I am because you taught me to be.”

Elena surprises her by leaning forward to press her lips to her forehead.

“I’m proud of you too, Mom,” she says, drawing back just enough to put them eye to eye. “I’ve never blamed for you for loving, Dad and I never will.”

“You are far more than I’ve ever made myself deserving of,” Harry says with a helpless sort of love. “Oh!” She shoves her hand down the pocket of her slacks, which she’d been allowed to keep, and pulls out a carefully folded paper. “My wedding gift for you,” Harry says, waving it teasingly. “Had to cash in on a few favours so I really hope I got this one right.”

Elena raises an eyebrow and the expression is painfully Tom but Harry’s heart has long stopped hurting over their similarities.

“Some secrets are easier to keep than others,” Harry says as Elena slowly takes it out of her hand. “From your letters – your wife’s parents obviously cares for their daughter and you very much. I thought that this might smooth things out a bit with the whole magic bit.” A beat, dawning realisation on her daughter’s face.

“You mean-“

“I mean,” Harry agrees, mouth twitching. “You’ll have to keep an Obliviator on place, just in case it goes badly, but from the sounds of things they seem the accepting sort. They deserve the right to know their grandchildren, magic and all, if it comes to that. And, if nothing else, for them to understand and love _you_.”

Harry preens just a bit when her daughter hauls her in for a second hug, sending the warmth down her bond to Tom as she squeezes her tight.

_-_

It’s not a very traditional wedding.

The air is relaxed and there’s a lot of music and dancing and more than one language being spoken and Harry finds herself pulled into dance after dance in a whirlwind of colours and names and laughter as she’s traded from the young and the old until she’s finally grasping the hands of her daughter’s wife.

Emke is nearly as tall as her daughter, Harry realises almost immediately as warm hands fold over hers and mischievous eyes twinkle bright. Her skin is dark, her hair done in the sort of tiny and fine braids that makes Harry’s fingers ache just thinking about all the time and patience that had gone into it, clasped with warm golden rings for the wedding.

“It is wonderful to finally meet you,” Emke says as she swings Harry into a free sort of thing that she nimbly matches only because Auror training still keeps her on her toes. “I was starting to think this wonderful mother my wife spoke so fondly of was but a ghost.” Her smile softens her words. “I’m glad you could be here tonight.”

“Sorry about the late meeting,” Harry says automatically, caught off-guard by the gentle reprimand but liking it.

“Apology very much accepted,” the young woman agreed breezily and it makes her mouth twitch. “Besides,” Emke says. “I hear you’re responsible for the best wedding gift today so there’s really nothing more to say about it. I just hope to get to know you properly in the future – you obviously means the world to my wife.” The way she tastes the word a second time in their short conversation, luxuriating in it almost, makes Harry’s mouth curl fondly.

 _Ah, to be young and in love_ , she thinks.

-

Late that night she finds herself near a small lake with a glass of wine, humming softly to the music in the tent in the distance. Tipsy but – soft and warm and content.

She opens an eye when he sinks down beside her, his presence strangely cold, fingers like ice where the very tips brushes against her own, almost hesitant where he had once taken freely and greedily, confident in his love and want.

“You could have said hello to her,” she says, taking a small sip of the red liquid.

“I put off all raids for the month and I've banned them from his part of England completely,” Tom says and his mouth curves strangely around the _s_ , just enough to let her know where his path were taking him. “It was far kinder than presenting myself as her father.”

She turns her head to regard him, blinking when she finds herself faced with a pale face cast nearly entirely in shadow.

“She loves you, Tom.”

“She doesn’t _know me_ ,” he cuts in sharply and self-loathing dances down their bond, raw and aching enough that Harry falters. “It’s been _years_ and look at her-!” He curls on himself. “I have been nothing but a dark haunting shadow to her happiness.” His breath catches. “No,” he says, with a bitter sort of heaviness. “It would have been kinder if she’d never been sullied by my blood-“

The glass crashes through the ground and Harry pushes the other down, landing astride his chest, eyes burning Alpha red as she pins him down below her, staring into a far too pale face that made the vividness of his eyes stand out starkly.

“Don’t you dare say that,” she growls, baring her teeth. “I chose you, Omega. You are _mine._ Elena carries a heavy burden in her blood, from you and from me, but she does so proudly!”

She feels the rise and fall of his chest beneath her, his thin wrists squeezed tight in her grasp.

“Look at me, Alpha,” he says and for the first time there’s a tiredness to his features, the smudges beneath his eyes dark purple. “Really _look at me_ and say that you are still proud to call me _yours_.”   

Harry drops her forehead against his, feeling an echoing exhaustion inside herself.

“Silly, Omega,” she sighs. “You don’t really understand what you do to me, do you?” she asks and before he can answer she grasps for their bond, focusing on the feel of her arousal at the sight of _her Omega_ sprawled out beneath her, feeling the way he stiffens, eyes widening as she smiles a bit helplessly at him. “I love you,” she tells him. “I’ve always loved you. I don’t think I know how to _stop_ loving you.”

A breath and then he tugs at his wrists and resignation dips through her as she loosens her grip but he surprises her by looping long arms around her neck and pulling her down against him and the surprising softness of his robes.

Tom smells like sulphur but there’s still that lingering brush of mint beneath it all and her nose flares as she breathes it in with a soft hum.

“I don’t have heats anymore,” he admits over the wet _thu-thump thu-thump_ of his heart.

“I know,” Harry agrees for it had been a long time since she felt that wild want through their bond.

“… Do you remember that day, in the classroom?” Tom asks her, staring up and above at the stars. “I told you that if you swore you wouldn't tell about me being an Omega you could _fuck me._ ” The sound of the swear, after so many years, startles a wet snort out of her.

“Yeah,” she tells him. “I also remember, quite vividly, _you_ fucking _me._ ”

“I never thought you’d actually comply to it,” Tom says and the lingering disbelief echoes down to her. “Not only taking me but allowing yourself to be knotted and then – to see you pregnant with _my_ child.” She feels his fingers digging into her back. “I don’t love you.” The words are heavy but blunt.

“I know,” Harry agrees.

“I don’t think I know how to love.”

“I know.”

A pause.

“I suppose you know about the horcruxes too, then,” he says flatly and Harry’s mouth twitches.

“I might have heard a thing or two. You really should know better than to leave your diary where anyone can-“

He drags her up, then, and silences her with a desperate sort of press of his lips against hers and Harry feels a dark flare of coiling possessiveness as she presses her palm flat against his chest, levelling herself up to deepen it with a slant of her mouth over his, licking into his mouth and curling her tongue around his.

He tastes like he’s always had – familiar but colder, as if the split of his soul had leeched some of the warmth of humanity away from him.

She’s still astride him and Harry takes advantage of it, tugging the pin of his robe off and pushing it impatiently down his shoulders before yanking his shirt open and drawing away from him with a sharp inhalation of air before angling for the sharpness of his jaw, scraping her teeth roughly over the flesh as he groaned, nails raking down her back to grasp at her hip as she sucked a dark mark against the flesh of his neck.

She touches his skin, everywhere she can reach, and he allows her willingly – eyes pinpricks, watchful and never veering as she draws down his body to work on his belt, yanking it sharply open and wiggling the pants half-way down his hips before giving it a rough shove down with an impatient foot to a soft laugh.

He’s lost weight – the fact of the matter is undeniable and Harry tries not to linger on it even when the Alpha in her whines at the undeniable proof of her failure to provide, nuzzling her cheek against his belly as she threads her legs down between the spread of his, settling possessively over his length.

It’s still soft, even with the arousal heavy and echoed through their bond, and Harry kisses down his belly until she can gently swipe her tongue up against it, dragging it over her bonding gland where her scent was the strongest, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin of the inside of his thigh, catching it between her front teeth and dragging it out as he twitched.

“I’m not going to get hard,” he cautions her.

“I know,” Harry agrees, too content to simply have him there beneath her, to taste him, to even be remotely bothered by it.

“… You truly are something else, aren’t you?” It’s said with a sort of disbelief and for all that the horcruxes had crippled him of the capacity to feel love there was still _something_ in the echo of their bond tying them together. “Most people can’t stand to look at me and yet you-“

She gives him a firm nip in reproach and he twitches.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” she agrees.

“I don’t love you.”

“I know,” she hums.

“Alpha?”

“Yes, Omega?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Harry pauses, words slowly registering to her brain, and she jerks up – green bleeding vivid Alpha red as she pins him in place, disbelief warring with such a sharp pang of arousal that she nearly tips right off him.

“I’m not saying it again,” he tells her and she stares at the soft creep of colour on his cheeks.

-

Harry kisses his belly, his cock, his balls, maps the inside of his thighs and nibbles at the fold of a knee. She touches him everywhere there is to touch and at the very end she takes him soft and slow and everything their romance and bond hadn’t been.

 _A last goodbye_ , Harry thinks, pressing her lips to the skin above his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up if you've got any questions! Last chap will be up in just a few moments I should think :) I'll also get back to your comments, promise! 
> 
> Been busy busy busy but wanted to get this up. It's like 4 am, haaaah. So sleepy after work.
> 
> Artsy-death on tumblr if you want to swing by.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Halloween

_Halloween, 1981_

Elena grows up with an Alpha mother and an absent Omega father who would come to claim the name _Lord Voldemort,_ desperate to rid of the very last traces of himself.

 _“The world is not a kind place,”_ her mother would say when she broached the subject. _“And some suffer more than others by the machinations of fate.”_

Fate.

For all that her mother had never been inclined for any sort of religion or belief in higher-power she’d had a complicated sort of relation with the word and Elena grows up knowing that her mother carries more secrets than most.

James carefully nudges her shoulder, haggard and tired after the night and Elena nudges him right back – the brat.

“Do you think she knew?” he asks her. “She always seemed to know everything, your mom.”

“Are you asking if she was some sort of seer?” Elena asks, eyebrow rising up.

James face makes a complicated sort of thing. “Probably not,” he says after a moment.

“Probably not, he says,” Elena sighs and James snorts as he drops his head on her shoulder, staring out into the night, and when she reaches out he meets her half-way with a squeeze of her hand. “It’s going to be alright, James,” she tells him, because it was the sort of thing her mother would have said had she been there.

“My daughter was just attacked by the Dark Lord himself,” he says tiredly. “And Auntie Harry is dead.” A pause. “Your mom is dead.” The words doesn’t sound quite right in his mouth and he grimaces. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, exhausted.

Silence settles between them.

“I think mom knew.” Elena stretches her legs out down the stairs.

“Yeah,” James agrees and quiet once again resides.

Truthfully, Elena doesn’t know and she doesn’t think she’ll ever know or understand the person her mother had been. She’d always looked about the world strangely – as if seeing something they didn’t, moving to another tune entirely, always two steps before everyone else.

Inside her pocket is the letter and her mother’s birth certificate which she’d found posted from her mother that morning, unknowing that their last meeting had truly been their _last_.

Had she known she would have held her mother just a bit tighter and just a bit longer.

“What’s her name anyway?” Elena asks. “Your daughter.”

James laughs suddenly, a wet sort of thing that makes him scrub furiously at his eyes. “’m sorry,” he says as she stares at him. “It’s not funny but- we named her Harry,” he admits as she blinks at him. “Harry Lily Potter.”

 _Lily_.

“Yeah,” James agrees and Elena jolts, not realizing she’d spoken it out loud. “Lily’s family has this whole flower theme going for it and mine is all about reusing old names so we thought we’d combine it, you know?”

He says something else but Elena isn’t listening, hand grasping at her coat, feeling the crinkle of a letter and documents that suddenly felt far too heavy in her pocket.

-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Elena Lily Riddle,_

_I fear that in my selfishness I have burdened you with a heavy fate and had I been a better mother I might have felt regret in that but I love you too much to ever consider a world where you didn’t get to live._

_You once asked me, when you were very young, perhaps four or five, how I could love someone like your father when he’d left us all alone. I tell you now what I told you then:_

_How could I not when he gave me you?_

_When you were sixteen you told me that if you ever met your father you would tell him that you forgave him for leaving. Perhaps it is selfish for me to hope that never changes._

_Never forget: You are the best of us._

_Thank you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the end of this.
> 
> It was really interesting to write this, exploring their relationship like this and then Elena who sort of ended up just growing on me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to ask questions if there's anything you're wondering about or come scream at me on tumblr under artsy-death.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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